Passing On

Making the omelette had helped him come to terms his antipathy.

Talking with Joe the Barber had, too.

It had been his day off. He couldn't remember having actually taken one during the past few years—he usually ended up on base on those rare days when he was supposed to be off base—usually some problem or another with the Jaffa or a mission gone wrong called him back. Last week it had been Kinsey showing up uninvited. This week, it was the bald barber with the eerily familiar voice.

He'd never been more grateful to an intruder in his life. Jack had felt profoundly uncomfortable during the phone conversation with Carter—as if he'd done something dirty. She'd called him just as he'd been stepping into the elevator at Kerry's hotel. He'd answered it without thinking—his disjointed brain hadn't even considered checking the caller id. Normally, he welcomed her calls—that was somewhere Pete and the rest of the world didn't normally intrude. But he'd just lingeringly kissed Kerry good morning, smiling as she'd arched lithely up against him, and his mind in the elevator had been pleasantly engrossed with how warm her skin had been where it had been pressed against his own.

Even as he'd castigated himself over his weakness, he'd found a release in that hotel room. A few of them, actually. It was a double edged thing, though. Knowing that his heart was involved in one place and his body in another made him feel as if he was lying to everyone—especially himself.

And so he'd shelved it as best he could and chatted benignly with Carter—trying to make it feel as if he hadn't just been tangled up with another woman, having to remind himself to say and think the right name.

Joe the Barber, at this point, had seemed to be his salvation.

After they'd gotten past the gun stage of the conversation, Jack had calmed the little guy down by making him breakfast. Omelettes—like he'd planned on making anyway. And eventually, Joe had stopped shaking and apologizing, and gotten to the point of his visit.

O'Neill had to sympathize with the guy. Weird things had hijacked his life from time to time and wreaked havoc, too. After rinsing the dishes and stacking them in the dishwasher (Cassie got peeved if he didn't), they'd climbed in the Super Duty and started the drive to the Mountain.

"So, is the team off world right now?"

O'Neill found it amusing that Joe spouted SGC vernacular so easily. He checked the rear view mirror and then changed lanes before answering. "Nope, they're all Earth based right now. Daniel's been doing some stuff with Ancient translations—"

"When is he not?" Joe opined vehemently.

Jack grinned. Finally. Someone who understood him. "Yes. And Teal'c has been holed up trying to figure strategy for the Free Jaffa to establish their own solidified government."

Joe shook his head, an amused expression in his eye. "Those Jaffa—won't it be wonderful when they can govern themselves?"

Jack changed lanes again, fighting the impulse to honk. He hated it when people drove slowly in the fast lane.

Joe looked around him. "It's a beautiful place for a base, though. Even though I know you're underground. But driving there must be nice every day."

O'Neill grunted noncommittally.

"Is Colonel Carter on base? Or is she at the Alpha Site?" Joe shook his head. "No, she's probably in town making plans for the wedding."

"I'm not sure where she is. I think it's her day off, too." He found he could still lie easily—a skill left over from other jobs he'd held.

"Was that her you were talking to when you came in? Before I accosted you, I mean."

O'Neill glanced over at Joe. He'd apologized profusely for the pretend gun, the pretend hold up, the false threat. "Yeah—I was talking to her."

"So you still speak on the phone from time to time, even though she's not on your team anymore."

"She's still a friend."

"Friends." Joe nodded. "I guess that's all you can be, what with Pete and all."

"She's still under my command, too."

"Yes, well, I guess that's all you can have, now." He hummed to himself a little before adding, "I guess it's better that the two of you have moved on."

A thought occurred to the General. "Joe—exactly how much have you seen with that stone—lately?"

"Well." Joe screwed up his face, thinking. "I've seen some stuff with you and Cassandra Frasier—boy that was sad when her mom did. And you and a lot of Chinese food—really, Jack, Happy Family Chicken and Dumplings?"

"What's wrong with the Happy Family?"

"I would have imagined you more of a Moo Goo Gai Pan kind of guy. Maybe Mongolian Beef."

Jack stared at him for second before scowling. "But Happy Family Chicken and Dumplings is so—Happy. There are dumplings. There's nothing happier than dumplings."

"Well, whatever. All I'm saying is that a guy like you—who has saved the world several times—should like more manly food."

"Meat and potatoes?"

Joe's look was frankly measuring him. "Or wings and a beer."

Jack pursed his lips. "Wings and a beer."

Joe stayed silent momentarily. Without looking at the General he said, "Into one night stands now, are we?"

Jack sighed, adjusting his hands on the steering wheel.

Joe shrugged. "I can understand it, I guess. Although in all the time since My Charlene has been gone, I haven't gone looking elsewhere for companionship."

O'Neill had noticed in the first ten minutes that he'd known Joe, that he spoke of his wife as My Charlene—just like that. In capitals. Even though he knew that Joe and his wife were currently separated, Jack felt a twinge of envy. He wanted that—wanted to be able to identify someone as being his. And not in a possessive, alpha guy way, either. He wished that someone would want to be identified as together with him. Kerry had mentioned several times that their fling—however long it lasted—had to be kept quiet. Yet another woman placing demands.

"It can't be easy. But even so, you don't love one woman and do—things—with another. I guess that way of thinking is going the way of the dodo." Joe went on. "But, I mean, Colonel Carter with Pete—and even after the display at the engagement party—that's gotta hurt. I feel your pain, if that doesn't sound too creepy."

"Thanks. I appreciate that." And Jack was surprised to find that he actually did.

"Don't thank me," Joe motioned with his hand towards his breast pocket. "Thank the stone."

They had driven into the compound parking lot. Jack got out first, and then called ahead to security to inform them that he'd be accompanied. Within a few minutes they had passed through the first two checkpoints and were on the second of the two elevators taking them down the silo towards the infirmary.

----OOOOOOO----

They'd given Joe Spencer a CAT Scan. During the procedure, Jack retreated to his office to place a call to Homeworld Security to let them know what was happening. Given that it was a Saturday morning, an aide in the office took a message. Apparently, a barber from Indiana didn't compose enough of a security threat to warrant contacting the higher-ups on a weekend—something about golf and demotions. Jack returned the phone to its cradle and leaned back in his chair—this new one hadn't quite been broken in yet. He wiggled a little to help it along. Of course, Hammond had been in his for eight years or more before it had felt right. Jack prayed to anyone who would listen that he wouldn't have this chair for that long.

He suddenly felt tired.

A knock sounded on the door just before Daniel stuck his head around it. "Jack? You busy?"

The General sat back up. He waved Daniel in with a motion of his head.

Daniel entered, and then shut the door behind him. "I'm wondering what happened last night."

"Last night?" Jack suddenly went still. "What about last night?"

"Well, Cassie called and said that you'd left and hadn't come back. She wondered if you had come to my place."

"Obviously, I didn't."

"She sounded concerned."

"She was the one that chased me out in the first place—she and her gaggle of giggling biology majors."

"Jack." Daniel looked disapproving. "You should have called her to tell her where you were."

Well, that would have been awkward. Jack leaned forward on his desk, covering his face with both hands.

"What happened?"

O'Neill uncovered some of his mouth and most of one eye. "I went to O'Malley's."

Daniel raised a brow. "Well, no good could come of that."

"I had wings and a beer."

"Just one?"

"Yes, just one, Daniel." Jack placed both hands on the top of his desk. "What do you think I am? A lush?"

Daniel pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat. "Well, Cassie was worried. She thought you might have had an accident or something."

"I didn't." He wished he had some papers to shuffle, but the desk was conspicuously bare.

"Did you talk to her when you got home?"

"She was gone when I got home."

"When, last night?"

"Daniel, how old am I?" O'Neill couldn't look at him. "Or do I suddenly need a curfew?"

"Jack, I know how old you are—or thereabouts. What I'm asking is where you were."

"Why do you want to know?"

Daniel didn't answer for a long time. When he did, his voice was quiet, calm. "I know that you've been going through some stuff lately, and might be still struggling. What with plans going forward as they appear to be. With Sam."

"I've already talked to Carter about the fact that I won't be at her wedding." Jack's voice was low, too. "She and I have hashed that out, at least."

"You're not going?"

He moved his hands to disguise the fact that they had begun to shake. "Daniel, I can't."

Jack looked at Daniel then, and the younger man read him for a long beat before nodding. "Okay. You do what you have to."

"I will."

They sat in stony silence until a nurse poked her head in. "Sir," she said, "Mr. Spencer is ready for the briefing."

"Thanks." Jack stood.

But before he could round his desk, Daniel cut him off. They stood close—at the end of the desk, by the wall. "Jack, I can just say that I get it. I get it if you want to go out and get blasted and party all night long. But you allowed Cassie in. You let her come and stay with you. She needs some stability."

Jack's lips formed a flat line. Daniel waited expectantly, his blue eyes boring into Jack's. Finally, Jack blew out between his teeth—a long hiss that was accompanied by a frustrated shake of his head. "Daniel—"

"No—I know that you don't want to tell me what's going on with you. It's just not normal for you to disappear like that—"

"I was with a woman." Jack gritted it out, interrupting. "I picked her up at O'Malley's and we went to her hotel room. I stayed the night."

Daniel could not possibly have been more surprised. His mouth formed a big "o"—then tightened. He whistled slightly. "Well."

"Well."

"How long have you known her?"

"Is it important?"

"So, you just met."

"Daniel."

"Jack."

"Daniel." O'Neill turned the other way, rounding the back of his desk towards the door leading into the briefing room. "I have a meeting to get to."

He approached the door and reached for the handle. As he turned it, he heard Daniel call him again.

"Jack, I hope you know what you're doing."

But the General didn't acknowledge he'd heard.

----OOOOOOO----

In the end, Jack had sent Joe Spencer back to Indiana. He traveled there the next day and met him at a park to try to explain things to Joe's Charlene. One thing about being a General in the Air Force was that you got a quick ride to where ever you needed to get. He'd seen the patent relief in Charlene's eyes when he'd explained what had been going on with her husband—she was more comfortable with alien stones than she had been with the prospect of Joe's being mentally ill.

Frankly, Jack could understand that. He was more comfortable with alien stones than with madness, too.

----OOOOOOO----

He'd tried to wait for a while to call Kerry. He'd thought to play it cool—give her a day or so—not seem too desperate. But he still found himself on the phone as soon as he climbed into his truck. She'd told him to pick something up on the way over.

Ming's Mongolian Beef was nearly as good as Happy Family. More exotic. Spicy hot.

And he was finding that exotic lately, was appealing. As Kerry hurriedly flipped open the buttons on his uniform jacket and shoved it off his shoulders, then started in on the buttons of his shirt with her eager little fingers, he decided that spicy hot might be okay, too.

But afterwards, as she slept, her wild array of curls spread over the hotel pillows, Jack slipped out of bed and climbed into the shower.

The running water made it more difficult to hear the sound of his conscience protesting.

The heat coursing down his body felt like it just might burn the guilt away.